Foraging beneath that layer of dark
mysterious leaves my life has become
for me, an unrecognizable series
of encounters, places, dutiful acts
—a question, mainly, of scheduling—i find
the rich soil of my own imagination,
the mulch of my refusal, my Bartleby-
face, a kind of pitiful liberty
staring obliquely back at me
and wonder if others are able to see
the ironic smile that some priest or other, some
secular undertaker perhaps, had thought
to have buried forever,
torn asunder.
3/10/2011
Bologna
Foraging by Lee Foust
I post this as an example of what I've been constructing lately, performances of pieces, and this app that I have discovered that allows me to post a recorded performance of a text in a blog post along with the text itself. I recorded this on a laptop using a free program called audacity. If anyone is interested in such experiments/presentation I'd be happy to answer any questions as to the process or technology involved--it's really quite easy--except for the writing and performance parts. Enjoy, feel free to comment.
ReplyDeleteReading the poem and listening to it offered some interesting insights. Reading the poem gave me a sense of longing for something human. I can relate to looking for something real in the world we live in. Sometimes it feels like our souls are buried beneath the clutter of life, and I think we lose a sense of what we were before we forgot to live.
ReplyDeleteYour reading of the poem made it seem detached from reality or feelings. It really gives the poem a mechanized or stoic feel. Like the reader can't even feel the realization of what he has become. It's a little strange to listen to with the music, for me it distracts from the poem. Maybe you could read it in class next week?